Insomnia
by justjoy
Summary: He sleeps late, because he has no other choice.


DISCLAIMER: If I were Aoyama-sensei, the movies would already be canon a long time ago.

Author's Note: No particular time, but probably set quite far into Kaito's timeline, when he already knows Hakuba quite well. Also subscribes to the movies, in that Kaito already knows who Conan really is. Inspired after several sleepless nights, so don't worry too much if it doesn't completely make sense, I suppose? Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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**fic ahead!**

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Kuroba Kaito is a late sleeper.

Just as well that he is, too, because it really wouldn't do for him to be caught yawning and unawares during one of his heists. He holds them in the night because he has no other choice. Most of his magic, the tricks that rely on light and shadow to distract the eye and deceive the mind - that is to say, at least half his repertoire on heists - need the dark backdrop. And of course, he must admit, white looks so much better against the night sky.

His father had chosen the costume for a reason, after all.

Besides, there is little need to provide Hakuba with more circumstantial evidence, and even Aoko would hardly be able to deny such coincidence staring her in the face if he skips school every time there's a Kid heist.

But even when it's only the Task Force, he cannot afford to let down his guard. Nakamori and his men may be a bunch of hopelessly bumbling fools nine times out of ten, but they are still far more experienced than he can ever hope to be, and he cannot let himself forget that.

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Kuroba Kaito is a late sleeper.

When he was much younger, he used to dream about his father's death. Those weren't so much nightmares as hellish reenactments on the stage of his mind, the whole incident warped and replayed so that it was so much _more…_ so much more _everything. _The expression that flitted across Toichi's face just a split second before. The sickening _crack_.

The terrified screams of Aoko beside him, even if he can't remember his own.

Those flames always look darker in his dreams, blood red tinged with black.

Then he discovers the room and Snake and the reality behind his father's death, and his dreams change to feature Nakamori-keibu and the Task Force members he's come to know, dead because he is too late to save them. Worst of all is Aoko, her beautiful features twisted by pure hatred for what he'd become, for what he takes from her every time he dons that cape.

Yet later, they morph again to include Hakuba and Conan, spread-eagled and riddled with bullets, eyes staring accusingly up at him, so empty of that intelligence that always sparks in them. And that is almost worse, because Kaito knows that there is little that he can do to prevent that.

If - Kami forbid - the Nakamoris or the Task Force ever got in the line of fire, it would be by some thrice-damned chance of some sort, bless their incompetence in figuring out where he might go.

But the detectives wouldn't step into the line of fire so much as throw themselves into it with the way they pursue him recklessly at every heist. Oh, Kaito has considered telling them more than once, warning them to never come again, but he doubts that it would work. His detectives are all about the truth, and Kaito can wager that they won't stop there. Moral dilemmas or not, they'd try to help whether or not he wanted them to, and Kaito doesn't know if he can deal with that.

And he honestly does enjoy their chases when no bullets fly, a pure battle of wits that he can find nowhere else, where the line between truth and impossibility blur just a little. He refuses to rob himself - themselves, he prefers to think - of that, certainly not because of the men who have taken so much.

They've won once already, and Kaito will not let them have this too.

It is times like this that he is grateful that Hakuba is the lesser of the two detectives, because with the large difference in their heights it is far less likely that the shrunken Kudo would be hit by a stray bullet, even if he does possess some uncanny ability to predict Kaito's every move almost before he makes it.

If this is being selfish, well then, _so be it_. He can make up for it by being extra careful at every heist that they attend, contigency plans upon backup plans layered over one another like an infinite jigsaw until Kaito himself would be hard pressed to find a loophole, and makes sure to keep a closer watch out for dark shadows moving in the close distance.

After that, he flips Aoko's skirt in school and turns Hakuba's hair green, and makes sure to include some extraordinarily embarrassing prank for Nakamori-keibu and Conan in his next heist, even if the latter always manages to dodge it with that annoyingly cocky smirk on his face. Because, at least, if they're screaming at him and cursing his name for the next ten generations to come, well, at least they're _alive_ to do it, and Kaito cannot ask for more.

He doesn't dare to.

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Kuroba Kaito is a late sleeper, and sometimes, he wonders what would happen if he wasn't, until he is reminded in a rush of red that leaves him grasping blindly at half-forgotten figures that vanish quickly into the dark night, not before leaving their mark.

Most of the time, he just doesn't think about it.

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**END**

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2nd Author's Note: Like I mentioned earlier, this was written on an empty sleep tank - if that wasn't already clear from the uninspired title - and I really couldn't figure out how to revise it further, but I liked the idea so much I decided to post anyway.

3rd (and last!) Author's Note: Thank you for reading, and do tell me what you think! While I don't have any plans to continue this fic, you're more than welcome to give any suggestions you might have, and I'll see what I can do =)


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